The Price of a Free Mind
by Jane Lu
Summary: An ultimate price was once paid to gain immortality and power, but in the end all he received was bound servitude and the loss of everything he once held dear. Only then did the Lord of the Nazgûl realize that he had to pay a price once again to regain a free mind, regardless that it might cost him his life this time. (UNDER RECONSTRUCTION!)
1. A Slow Fade

**I had the inspiration to write a short tie in story to _Dawn of Another Day_ concerning the Witch King of Angmar and how he really started to rebel against Sauron. I originally intended for this to be a one chapter story, but soon found out that it was too long. As a result, some chapters may be longer than the others. Oh well...enough with the rambling, and on with the story!**

**Note: If you readers notice something wrong with the timeline here, it will be either explained in future chapters or I really made a mistake (I hope I didn't...).**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing in this story. The Lord of the Rings and all related stuff all belong to the great J.R.R. Tolkien, who was surprisingly inspired by _Beowulf_ to write his books.**

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><p><em>Freedom of the mind was overrated.<em>

So thought a being who had lost his free will and the ability to think for himself a long time ago. In fact, this thought was one of the few that clung to his unraveled mind even as he carried out his master's will. There was little room left for anything else, for Lord Sauron and his intentions were one and the same.

But apparently his master did not will the Lord of the Nazgûl to be sitting in his own personal lodgings in the dark tower of Barad-dûr, Mordor, with a light gray quill pen held in one hand and a heavy leather-bound book on the desk before him.

He looked at the tools of the scribe confusedly. The wraith-lord did not remember picking the quill up, or when he had written those fine words in the yellow parchment paper of the book. Sparing a quick glance at the pages, the Lord of the Nazgûl noted with surprise that it contained an accurate record of the recent events in the island country of Númenor. His bewilderment grew as he flipped through the book to find intricately illustrated maps and extensively family trees.

Lord Sauron certainly did not order him to create an archive of records, and certainly not of Númenor. The wraith-lord knew that his master held resentment against the prosperous country and had been planning an assault against it for quite a while. Who was he to disobey by carefully documenting the events of this soon-to-be doomed place? It was most likely that he would be commanded to lead the attack himself.

Indeed, the Lord of the Nazgûl, Captain of Despair, the most terrible of Lord Sauron's servants would carry out this task. He was proficient in the arcane arts of sorcery and a master swordsman, the most powerful of the Eight Nazgûl. Although the wraith-lord did not care to admit it, he was also the most confused. He did not understand the motives and actions of his fellow Ringwraiths; they spoke frequently of things he did not understand. Surely the will of Lord Sauron sustained them also, for it seemed that he alone of the Eight followed their master's orders without question.

And yet he was still the confused one, for he never remembered much of what he did recently. Sometimes he found himself in one place without remembering how he got there in the first place. There were even times when he completely lost his train of thought while speaking to the others. The Lord of the Nazgûl was fortunate that his master's will directed his intentions, or he would have wondered excessively over his increasingly pointless behavior.

Wondering and thinking and musing, such tiring and futile activities when he could be preserved by another's mind. Remembering was much worse, for the wraith-lord knew that he had forgotten many important things of his past and shunned the fact that he could not remember them. He was truly the most trustworthy and capable of Lord Sauron's servants, for only he has achieved this level of obedience while the others often questioned their master's commands.

And then there were moments like this in which he found himself recording history.

The Lord of the Nazgûl did not want to know why in some occasions he was not as sustained as he thought. _He_ was the obedient one, the only servant Sauron trusted to share some of his confidential war plans. He could not afford to lose his master's reliance because of some confused wandering and unwitting history recording. Perhaps he should consult Lord Sauron about this phenomenon so he could be rid of it, and continue to serve him faithfully.

The wraith-lord hurriedly placed the quill back into the inkwell, closed the book and stuffed it into a drawer, just as a familiar presence pressed against his consciousness. He recognized it as his master's; Lord Sauron was capable of contacting the Nazgûl mentally if they happened to be in close proximity.

_Here I thought I would be the first to take action, but it is Númenor that made the first move. Their king, Ar-Pharazôn, has begun the march to Mordor with an army that surpasses even those of the Elf lords. As much as I loath to admit it, we cannot hope to meet the Númenóreans in battle. I will turn myself in, and I wish for you to take charge of Mordor in my absence. _Lord Sauron's voice was smooth despite his utterance of the harsh syllables of the Black Speech.

_I am honored, Lord Mairon. _The Lord of the Nazgûl replied in the same language, for it was an official regulation to speak such with the Lord of Mordor, as well as naming him Mairon. However, most servants called him Sauron regardless and after many failed attempts to correct this mistake, their master gave in and often turned a deaf ear to the title. The wraith-lord was not like them; he would honor the other's request solemnly.

_I know I can trust you out of all of the imbeciles that I call servants. _Sauron was pleased, _I do not know how long I will be gone, but I will assuredly bring down Númenor this time, from the inside._

_ I am glad to hear of this, for this will save much of our military resources. May whatever you plan be successful, my lord. Your country will be the same as you left it when you return. _He replied.

_Do you truly mean that, my ever-loyal servant? _There was a hint of amusement in the other's voice.

_What do you mean? _The Lord of the Nazgûl was genuinely puzzled by this sudden change of mood, for his master was rarely gladdened. Besides, why would he ever dare to _not _wish Lord Sauron success?

_Never mind. All will be clear when it is all over. _With that final vague promise, Sauron was gone before the wraith-lord could apologize for his ignorance.

For a long time he sat still as a carved statue of granite in his high-backed wooden chair as one of his confused moments struck again. He disregarded the fact that his esteemed master was willing to lower himself to a common prisoner of war, for when Sauron had mentioned Númenor, a sudden sense of familiarity had come to him. Why then? The Lord of the Nazgûl had never been to the island country before; he only learned of it through distant rumors. Even though he heard the name countless times by now, he always regarded it as one of his master's main opposing forces.

The lingering sense of dread did not fit in anywhere in his expected reactions. It even managed banish his decision to tell Sauron about his strange condition and ask for his advice.

The Lord of the Nazgûl finally shook himself from his reverie and exited his quarters. It was not necessary to concern himself whether Númenor was going to meet its doom or not. Lord Sauron's will came first, and he will take charge of Mordor with the best of his abilities in his absence.

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><p><strong>Please review! Every author loves them, and I am not an exception!<strong>


	2. A Lost Homeland

**Sorry it's been such a long time since I posted the first chapter. I finished this story some time ago, but just never got around posting it. You might want to go back to the previous chapter to brush up the plot though.**

**Thanks to ziggy3 and WatsonandMary4ever for reviewing!**

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><p>Ever since Sauron contacted him, the Lord of the Nazgûl was very disturbed. He was confused by it, for it was a long time since he felt any kind of emotion or was disturbed like this. Why should this news bother him this much? And why does the land of Númenor sound so familiar? Now for the first time since falling into shadow, the Lord of the Nazgûl finally began to wonder about this strange occurrence. In fact, it was so strange that he couldn't help but to wonder about it. His previous state of mindlessness became history as he <em>thought<em>.

_What does this mean? _He thought as he sat again his study, pouring over one of the thick leather bound books. There were at least tens of them on the bookshelves, arranged neatly by date. The majority of them concerned the history of Númenor, Arnor and Gondor, with smaller entries recording the histories of Rohan, Harad and Rhûn.

_Where is Númenor?_

_Why do I feel closely connected to that place?_

_Why I disturbed by the fact that Sauron is going there?_

He decided that he liked thinking like this now that he had experienced it himself. It gave him something to do apart from carrying out Sauron's orders and leading the Nazgûl. Thinking was also something he felt vaguely familiar with, as if he had been doing it a long time.

The armies of Númenor arrived one month ago, and Sauron went with them as a prisoner. The Lord of the Nazgûl stayed at Barad-dûr with the other Nazgûl and took over the responsibility of maintaining the land of Mordor. Even though he had immersed himself in the tasks of overseeing the trade of merchant goods, training the army and keeping the diplomatic relations between Mordor and its allied countries well, he was still unable to forget his disturbance. For some reason, the Lord of the Nazgûl wanted to actually go to Númenor himself and see what Sauron was doing there. He could not deny the fact that he was suspicious of his master's motives. Sauron was a proud and haughty individual who always reminded all his servants that he was the one in charge of all in Mordor. Now that he actually _humbled_ himself as a lowly hostage. There was a high possibility that Sauron was plotting something against Númenor.

"Khamûl, would you mind telling me the location of that country?" He asked his second in command one day as they met in the dark hallways of Barad-dûr.

"It is in the far West, just some distance from the West Coast. It would take a few weeks to travel there by horse," Khamûl replied plainly, "I will take it that you intend to go there?"

"I need to know what is Sauron doing, and I am very disturbed since he left."

"It is not like you, Captain, to be disturbed by such a trivial matter. Our master does whatever he pleases, and it is not our responsibility to interfere." Khamûl became suspicious.

"Nevertheless, I will go to Númenor. As Sauron had left Mordor under my charge in his absence, so will I leave the land under you when I am gone." The Lord of the Nazgûl decided he must go without heeding anyone's advice against it.

"As you wish, Captain." Khamûl bowed respectfully. But he caught a glint of contempt in the Easterling's eyes.

Saddling his horse and donning his armor along with his most trusted hand-and-a-half sword, the Lord of the Nazgûl set out from Mordor, riding fast towards the West. He met few obstacles along the way, for he never engaged the elves or men in battle when they attacked him. Various times he had to allow his tired horse to rest, but soon set out again after a day. All throughout the journey, he felt a heavy sense of foreboding as if something terrible was about to happen, something that would change Middle-earth and his life forever.

But it didn't stop him. Onwards he rode, until finally one day he rode out of the woods and reached the West Shores, where the sea stretched out seemly without limit to the horizon. The tips of houses and buildings could be seen far off on an island in the distance. In the middle of that was a high mountain with a flat surface. It was belching black smoke, staining the bright blue sky with a smoky grey.

_This must be Númenor. _He thought, That_ high mountain is named the__ Meneltarma, the highest point of the island and the place where only the king is allowed to set step on. The Three Prayers: Erukyerm__ë__, Erulaital__ë__, and Eruhantal__ë are held there._

_ How did I know that? Surely only a Númenórean would have known such things. I highly doubt I was one of them..._

He discarded this mystery quickly as he considered a way to get across. The Havens of Umbar provided ships that sailed straight to Númenor, but that would take another few days to travel there, not to mention that no one would allow the greatly feared Lord of the Nazgûl to borrow their ships.

However, he soon discovered he wouldn't have to worry about that. The ground suddenly shook with an unusual intensity. His horse neighed nervously and pawed the ground with its hooves, eager to get away.

_What is going on?_

The ground only shook harder, and the sea started to form large waves. There were alarmed calls of the birds in the woods as they took flight from the trees. Finally the horse tore the bridle from his grip and raced away. He took no notice of the loss of his ride. He was too mystified by this strange occurrence. Even as he watched, the waves grew higher and higher until it threatened to cover the island of Númenor entirely. And that was exactly what happened next.

The waves fell with a crashing roar that drowned out every other sound. The Lord of the Nazgûl could not help but feel awed by this display of omnipotent power over the waters. Again and again it fell mercilessly on the island, submerging the houses and the buildings. Screams and cries of desperation could be heard faintly as Númenor slowly but surely sank completely beneath the sea. The same destructive waves immediately rushed towards the Lord of the Nazgûl stood.

That was when he began to get nervous. Without his horse, he cannot get away fast enough. He tried to run as the overflowing sea pursued him relentlessly. But soon the water overtook him, and he was lost in a swirl of foaming bubbles and pounding waves. At that last moment, he thought he saw the shadow of a figure brilliantly shrouded in light standing in a distance, looking at everything with an air of great sorrow.

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><p><strong>Please review! The next chapter should be up soon if there is positive feedback.<strong>


	3. A Complete Awakening

**Another chapter, yay! I actually finished the entire story, just never got around posting it. Sorry that this one was so short.**

**Thanks to _Oleanne _for reviewing!**

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><p>The Lord of the Nazgûl sat on the flat surface at the very peak of Barad-dûr, looking out towards Mordor. He was thinking again, something that he was beginning to get used to and like greatly. Thinking also gave him another purpose in life, a certain freedom he had not known before. He had unknowingly made it a habit to find a high ledge, sit down, observe the scenery and think.<p>

After that incident on the West Coast, he had found himself surprisingly alive and still cloaked, although he was completely soaked. He managed to obtain another horse and travel back to Mordor. Sauron had already returned, and he expected to receive a severe tongue-lashing for leaving his duty like he did. Instead, he found Sauron as a disembodied being without physical form. He was still a little disoriented and kept muttering something about "Ar-Pharazôn" and "Master Melkor". The Lord of the Nazgûl managed to get away without incident.

_Sauron was responsible for it, the destruction of Númenor. I must admit that I pity the people who were tragically drowned in the watery depths of the sea. Why I am still disturbed though? I had seen plenty of bloodshed in the past. Surely the deaths of an entire country would not bother me like this?_

Suddenly he felt an intense pain in his head. There was a flash, and he saw an island country spread out before him.

_Númenor. _He recognized.

Then there were paved stone streets with houses made of stone. Many magnificent sailing ships floated peacefully in a seaside port. The people were busy hurrying around with their business, but all of them appeared content and happy.

_Why am I seeing this? I am beginning to think for myself now, but this is getting ridiculous._

A young king wearing a high crown on his head that was adorned with beautiful jewels. He looked gaunt and tired, the fact supported by his unusual long ash-grey hair.

_Who is that man? He is young, but yet he looks aged._

The king was then standing before another man. The other handed him a ring, crafted intricately in pure gold with a red gemstone in the center.

_Is that... me?_

The ring was accepted and placed the right middle finger of the king's hand.

_I... was a king of Númenor?_

The pain faded away completely, leaving him dazed and confused. For a long while the wraith sat in silence, gazing blankly into the bleak landscape without taking anything in. When his mind began to work again, his thoughts were disjointed and unsettled.

_Sauron destroyed it. He must have. The magnitude of the waters may be only done by his power. With his Ring, he could do almost anything. But why Númenor, my former country? Did the king offend him in some way? He could have just ended the king's life then. Instead the whole island is gone. Gone... gone forever..._

_What is this feeling? I feel as if I have lost an important part of myself, as if someone had destroyed my entire archive. I would certainly slay the one who dares to touch my records of history, but why Númenor? I knew I was once a king, but why does this feeling of attachment run so deeply?_

_And why did I see that vision at all?_

He recalled the only memory he retained before becoming a wraith, and again saw how he had accepted his ring from Sauron. His future master had come as a traveling elven jewel smith, so as he claimed, and offered a gift to the esteemed king of Númenor. At first the king had been suspicious of Sauron's motives, but the other had a way with words that soon had him intrigued.

"I ask for nothing in return once you accept this humble gift of mine. After all, I only wish for Your Majesty to manage his realm with all the help he can get. This ring contains potent power that I have designed for you to use in your arts of sorcery. Once you put it on and use it, you will discover that your spells are much more effective than before. Do you wish to secure your reign so that none of your enemies would dare to stand against you, Your Majesty? I guarantee you that my gift will give you the power you desire to do so. Of course, if you doubt my very words and should find the ring unsatisfactory, you are free to return it to me."

The Lord of the Nazgûl clenched his right hand into a hard fist and gazed almost dumbly at the band of gold on his ring finger. How would he have known that this seemly insignificant little trinket would rob him of everything he had?

_Why did I accept his ring? Why could I not resist? If I had known this would happen, that I would be dragged into the world of the undead in addition to gaining limitless power, I would have sent Sauron away without hesitation. I was a king of Númenor who ruled in splendor. What more could I possibly lack? Even if I had enemies, I must had the wisdom to distance them. I had everything; what did I still lust for?_

_All because of Sauron, my foolish decision and that accursed ring… I had it all taken away from me. My country is gone. Even my name is gone._

He had forgotten his name also. He was more commonly known as the "Lord of the Nazgûl" or the many other titles he had obtained since. But none of them revealed anything of his past or former name. Ironic it was, to possess so many titles and yet remain ignorant of a true name.

_All because of this ring, and how I accepted it._

He glanced at the very same gold ring with the red gemstone on his right hand. For a moment he longed to take it off and fling it far away from him.

_I thought I had nothing to cling to after becoming a wraith, but Númenor was still there. If I had known of it, I would have journeyed to visit it. Now even that is gone..._

_ My country... my homeland... my people..._

_ Who am I? A former Númenorean king who once lived as a man, or a loyal servant of Sauron bound under his will?_

_ I am a king, yet I am also a servant. My real identity… my real name… my real status… why is it so difficult to grasp? What did Sauron do to my mind? How could I have forgotten everything there is about my own country?_

His head started to hurt again, and this time the pain was sharp and sudden, like the slice of an ice-cold knife across his mind. The Lord of the Nazgûl had to press both hands against the sides of his head, grimacing at the agony that seemed to spread as seconds went by. But even in the midst of this affliction, he could feel emotions that seemly didn't belong to him coursing through him, memories that he had forgotten for so long.

He remembered his love for the people of Númenor.

He remembered his pride for his prosperous and majestic country.

He remembered how he worked so hard to. maintain this status, only to throw it all away at his moment of weakness.

Only then did he realize that it was all for naught; it was never worth it. Once upon a time the fallen Númenorean king would have lived and died as any other ordinary man, free to make his own choices, free to love, free to govern his own country.

_ALL GONE FOREVER!_

For the first time since under the service of Sauron, he grew angry at his master. The Lord of the Nazgûl was finally shaken from his state of mindless reverie, just as the pain in his head reached its peak and expanded. When it faded away, he could see everything with a crystal clear clarity that had not been there before. He could think clearly now.

_I see it now. I served Sauron without resistance when he took everything from me. How could I have done that for thousands of years? Foolish, I was, to have fallen into his trap! I gained nothing under his service. He was never kind to his servants. "Serve and give your all," he says, and we receive nothing in return. How could I not see his evident cruelty? A cruel being he is, and I do not wish serve such a master. I do not wish to serve anyone! Now that I know the truth, I will never listen to him so willingly again. _

_ Sauron, you will pay for what you did to Númenor!_

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><p><em><strong>Well, that's not going to end well for the Witch King, isn't it? Anyway, please review!<strong>_


	4. A Grim Confrontation

**And so I continue to post slowly. I really should finish uploading the chapters whenever I could, and sorry that this particular one is so short!**

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><p><em>Consider again, wraith-lord. You know the consequences of disobedience. I will give you one last chance to redeem yourself. <em>Sauron said steely. He had taken on the form of a flaming eye this time in the palantír.

A few hundred years had passed since the drowning of Númenor. During this period of time the Lord of the Nazgûl had maintained a low profile, refusing to see his master unless the matter was important. He knew that it was unwise to show any sign of rebellion back then. Despite the Lord of the Nazgûl's cautiousness, Sauron still noticed his unusual coldness and questioned him many times about it. He also thought a lot during those years, mostly about his loyalty to Sauron when this happened. How could he serve a master who had taken away everything he had and remembered? How could he serve Sauron when he had destroyed his beloved homeland and remnants of his past?

But at least things were better now. The Lord of the Nazgûl had led a siege against the Gondorian outpost Minas Ithil a few months ago and captured it. After spending a few months fortifying the place, he named it as his headquarters and left his dwelling within Barad-dûr. It was getting difficult each day as he lived with the master he was beginning to despise. When Sauron had contacted him today concerning orders to march out the army towards the North, the Lord of the Nazgûl could finally bear no more and lost control of his pent up anger that had been building up for the past hundreds of years.

_There is no need for me to reconsider. You had done something unforgivable. Do not attempt to negotiate me out of this. _He replied just as coldly.

_You had been obedient for thousands of years, and now you rebel against me? _Sauron retorted, _What in the world has happened to you?_

_ You destroyed my home country! _The Lord of the Nazgûl roared, _The realm I once ruled and protected. I was its king, and even I do not remember the events before I took your accursed ring, I have loved Númenor. Do not think that after stripping me of my kingship, identity and memories that you have eliminated this attachment. You drowned all the people mercilessly and submerged the whole island. You have cut off even the last shred of my past; you have taken away from me once again even though I had nothing left to give. Who has given you the right to do that? I will stay at Minas Morgul and ignore all orders until you have given me a good reason for your actions._

_ Do not be so obstinate, wraith. _Sauron was also becoming angry; _The fault is at the people and Ar-Pharazôn, not me. And I thought you had forgotten everything about your past, so you wouldn't have become so enraged over something like this. You, locking yourself at Minas Morgul! What a ridiculous notion! As long as you remain under my service, which is for the rest of your undead life, you have no choice but to obey me._

_ You will cease your meaningless rambling. _The Lord of the Nazgûl swept the glass ball angrily off its stand. It fell with a loud clatter on the cold stone ground and rolled away as the mental link disconnected.

He knew he was in trouble now, but he did not care. Sauron had gone completely over the line, and the wraith was finally going to let him know it.


	5. A Failed Rebellion

Clasping his hands together, the Lord of the Nazgûl summoned a torrent of lightning to rain down upon the orcs. Many of them died instantly, still twitching from the shock as they fell to the ground. He then conjured up a massive whirlwind to sweep some orcs up into the air and hurled them down into the valley below, who screamed as they fell to their deaths. For a moment, he paused to rest. It had been a long time since he last used sorcery, and his knowledge of Quenya, which he used to concentrate his spells, had diminished.

Sauron had sent an army to Minas Morgul, led by the Mouth of Sauron and the other seven Nazgûl. Two of them were new to the group, recruited from Númenor before it was destroyed. Their names were Herumor and Fuinur. The Lord of the Nazgûl had been reluctant to fight them. But he did not have a choice. Sauron sent this army in the hope of forcing him into submission.

_He probably isn't in his right mind if he thinks he could subdue me with an army this small. _The wraith-lord thought as he wove among the remaining orcs. With each swing of his sword, an orc fell either decapitated or impaled completely. No one's weapon could touch him as he moved with an inhuman speed towards the Seven.

_One of the benefits of that accursed ring and thousands of years of swordsmanship training._

"Stop him!" Khamûl shouted.

_I should have known that he was never faithful to me. Or he would have fought on my side instead of against me. But I do not wish to fight the others._

The seven cloaked Nazgûl rushed towards him, Herumor and Fuinur a little uncertainly.

"Avalerya." The Lord of the Nazgûl raised a hand and called down a binding spell upon them. A cage composed seemly of light encircled the Nazgûl and trapped them completely in. Khamûl collided with the bars and fell with a grunt, while Morgomir pounded uselessly at them.

_There. That should hold for awhile without hurting them._

"Take this!" A voice exclaimed.

The Lord of the Nazgûl was blown off his feet by a strong wind spell. He managed to flip himself upright with one hand and landed nimbly. The caster was the Mouth of Sauron himself, who was also a sorcerer. He was a distorted looking figure wearing red and black robes, and carried a staff with which he directed his spells. He and the wraith-lord were also never on good terms, with the Mouth always mocking him whenever he could.

"Because you had defied Lord Sauron and his gracious offers, he has sent us to bring you back to Barad-dûr for further judgment! Come peacefully, or I shall bring you back in pieces!" The Mouth declared in his obnoxious loud voice.

_So now he wants me back to the tower? That gives me another reason to win this fight._

"Your pitiful threats do not match with your abilities. Tell him that I refuse to come, and I will fight until my last breath!" The Lord of the Nazgûl shot back. He brandished his sword and rushed towards the Mouth. The other panicked, put up a shield that warded off physical attacks and began to throw spells at him in random. Although the Mouth was a rather powerful sorcerer, he lacked skill in swordplay and would prefer sorcery over it.

The Lord of the Nazgûl dodged a fire spell, reflected a thunder one back and leapt into the air as the ground suddenly erupted into columns of earth. Not fast enough, he was flung into the air again. Without even hesitating he pointed his sword at the Mouth.

"Maica helcë!" He cried out the incantation for an ice spell. Shards of ice shot towards its target. The Mouth's shield immediately shattered.

_He is pitifully weak in sorcery compared to me. But again, the ring has bestowed me the power._

The Lord of the Nazgûl landed and swung his sword. The flat of the blade struck the Mouth in the side of his head with a dull thud and the man collapsed in a heap on the ground, unconscious. He then finished off the remaining orcs easily. Finally, he stopped fighting and looked around the scene of battle. The dead bodies of orcs lay here and there, black blood pooling underneath them from their fatal wounds. Some of them lay smoking while giving off a charred putrid smell of burning flesh. Black spots on the stone ground marked places where lightning had struck. The Seven were still in the binding spell and stopped resisting by now. They were watching the Lord of the Nazgûl intently.

"I deeply apologize for this inconvenience." He called out as he prepared to release the binding.

"Wait!" Herumor cried out.

He stopped and turned to the younger Nazgûl in confusion.

"Wait for what?"

"You! Be silent!" Khamûl hissed angrily.

_He is trying to give me a warning. What kind of warning? Does Sauron have another trap ready to be sprung?_

"It is not over yet..." Fuinur said bravely.

There was a small scuffle as he was knocked unconscious by Gothmog.

"What is with this secrecy, all of you? Surely the battle is over. I see no other opponent." The wraith-lord was exasperated. But at the same time he was getting worried as a foreboding presence began to settle over the area.

_Perhaps they are correct. Something is not right here..._

The clanking of metal clad feet was heard in the distance.

The Lord of the Nazgûl spun around, his sword at the ready and a spell crackling at the tips of his fingers.

_Someone is coming..._

A figure completely clad in black metal armor slowly strode into view towards the bridge of Minas Morgul. He was tall and terrible, his armor with spikes at the shoulders and his helmet forming sinister slits for the eyes and mouth. It seemed like it was forged by a skilled hand, which was corrupted by the presence of the dark. A mace he held in his right hand, and a two handed broadsword hung at his back that was about as tall as he was. The Lord of the Nazgûl immediately recognized this figure, although he had never seen him in physical form before. His identity was further revealed by the gleaming golden ring on the middle finger on his gauntleted right hand.

"I am your last opponent, my dear servant," Sauron said, sounding almost amused, "I thought it wouldn't come to this, but it seems like I am mistaken."

The wraith-lord remained silent as he assessed the situation.

_I never thought Sauron would come out in physical form to fight me. I thought he lost his body? Perhaps he was able to temporarily create a new one. What should I do now? Even with my powers of sorcery, I cannot hope to defeat him. He has the One Ring with him also. I am loath to admit that he is far beyond me in terms of power._

For a moment the Lord of the Nazgûl despaired as he forgot completely about his defiance against Sauron.

"You have nothing to say? Very well then, come at me if you will, and I shall subdue you myself!" Sauron pointed his mace at him.

He recovered from the moment of despair suddenly.

"A hard time you will accomplish that, Sauron," The wraith's hands started to crackle with yellow energy, "You cannot force me to follow your will now!"

A massive amount of lightning struck Sauron where he stood. Again and again it struck with a blinding intensity that would have reduced any other sorcerer into a pile of ashes by now. As the lightning attack finally ended, Sauron was revealed completely unharmed.

_Impossible! How could he have survived that unscathed?_

Before the Lord of the Nazgûl could reconsider a strategy, the ring on his finger suddenly burned like fire that sent pain lancing up his arm. He exclaimed in surprise and almost lost his grip on the sword. Sauron had his right hand raised, the One Ring burning even brighter with the Tengwar inscription blazing white hot.

"I know of your power in sorcery. Surely if I disabled your mastery over it, I would gain an indefinite advantage over you," Sauron explained, "It would be a shame if I, the maker of your ring, was brought down by its power."

_My ring! He is trying to stop me from using it!_

The Lord of the Nazgûl snapped his fingers, and large shards of ice shot up right where Sauron stood, freezing him in place. The ice encasing the armored figured then shattered, sending sharp shards of ice flying in all directions. Sauron was again revealed unharmed. Dismayed but not discouraged, the wraith-lord conjured a gust of wind again and sent all the shards hurtling towards his opponent, hitting against his armor with a deafening clatter. Sauron was stunned for a while as he was assaulted by the barrage of ice.

The Lord of the Nazgûl then had to lean against his sword when he felt a sudden wave of fatigue overcome him. The world spun around dizzily, threatening to collapse him with its confusion of sight and sound. The ring did not help matters at all as it continued to pulse more painfully each time he used sorcery.

_What just happened? Sorcery has never done this to me. Sauron must have disabled my ring somehow, true to what he said earlier. I usually use it for my spells and draw power from it. But now sorcery is drawing its power from my own life force, my strength... it will sap my energy away completely if I continue to use it. I must stop using sorcery and fight him directly now!_

He managed to summon his flagging strength to rush towards Sauron with his weapon and swing hard. The sword was blocked by Sauron's mace.

"You give up fighting with sorcery?" Sauron taunted.

The wraith-lord chose not to reply as he and his opponent exchanged a flurry of blows. His arms shook every time when he blocked a strike from Sauron's powerful attacks. He had hit Sauron more than once, but his sword only glanced off his unyielding armor with a resounding clang.

_He is so powerful, and I could barely block his attacks. But I am faster than he. I must somehow use that to my advantage…_

The mace suddenly appeared from nowhere and hit the Lord of the Nazgûl directly in his side. He was sent flying into the mountainous wall and hit the ground hard as he fell. For a while he lay on the ground, gasping from the pain. Usually he recovered fast from direct attacks from ordinary weapons. But the mace was no ordinary weapon. It dealt pain that he had never known before.

_I should have been more careful. If I get hit again, I cannot recover fast enough._

"Do you yield?" Sauron's mocking voice was heard.

"Ne… Never!" The Lord of the Nazgûl spat out as he recovered his sword and headed towards the armored figure. He tried using sorcery again, but his spells weakened one by one as his strength began to fail. He was already exhausted and struggling to breathe, and yet Sauron was unharmed.

_I am tiring fast. In a few moments I might collapse from exhaustion. But I must fight on! I fight for my lost country. I fight for the people who died in the sea. I fight because of Sauron's injustice. I fight because I want to be free from his control!_

"Give up. You cannot continue on like this in your present condition. Can you not see it is better for us both if you surrender yourself? I wasted a perfectly good army on you just because you decided to rebel." Sauron reasoned.

"No… no..." The Lord of the Nazgûl weakly raised one hand and called upon his last strength for an advanced spell of destruction. Dark energy formed itself into a box around Sauron, encasing him and hiding from view. A moment later it lifted and cleared away. Sauron staggered and almost collapsed he was seemly lacerated throughout his whole body by the spell.

But the wraith had already fallen to his knees, his sword clattering away from his limp hands. He was barely even conscious.

_I... lost..._

Sauron had recovered himself and walked slowly over to the other. He must admit that his last spell was one of the most powerful he had ever seen, been able to cause him pain like that.

For a long while he stood looking at the kneeling hooded figure. It was a picture of a defeated swordsman and the triumphant one, a master finally subduing a disobedient servant.

A wraith who wished to avenge for his home country and a Maia who had caused the destruction of it.

Sauron almost pitied his servant, but he had a job to do.

He swung his mace.

The Lord of the Nazgûl was too exhausted to avoid it as it descended upon him. He fell into darkness even before it hit.


End file.
